


Sail With Me

by LittleKy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Ego is Kind of a Dick, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Peter Quill, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Games, Parent Yondu Udonta, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter's Gone Batshit, Psychological Horror, Yondad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 14:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12300750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleKy/pseuds/LittleKy
Summary: There's been some weird shit going on inside of Peter Quill's head.Mind you, his life has been by no means normal- but seeing and hearing things that other people can't is definitely a first for him.(Or: Where Ego makes an earlier entrance. Yondu hates that jackass.)





	1. Blame it on the alcohol

There’s been some weird shit going on inside of Peter Quill’s head.

Mind you, his life has been by no means normal- but seeing and hearing things that other people can’t is definitely a first for him.

No, he’s pretty sure that this _extra_ weird shit all started that one night at the bar; the same night that the entire Ravager crew had spent in drunken celebration because, by the skin of their teeth, they’d pulled off a heist that would leave them sitting pretty for a long while. Seeing this as good of a reason as any to get wasted, they’d piled into a bar on the next inhabited planet they’d come across, all crowing over their mugs and dramatically embellishing their own roles in the victory. The merry mood had even rubbed off on their captain- he’d been smirking wolfishly over his bottle at two women, who’d ‘ooh-ed’ and giggled at Yondu Udonta’s every word.

Peter himself had drifted away from the crowd towards the pretty, redheaded and Xandarian bartender. Though she’d fondly indulged in his brazen attempts to flirt, he was fairly certain she was uninterested, if her scrunching her nose up at nineteen-year-old Peter and stating that he was ‘just cute as a button’ were any sort of indicators.

Growing disheartened in his attempts, he nearly didn’t notice when another woman, an Aedian, stepped quietly into his line of vision. Peter turned from the amused bartender to flash the newcomer his most charming of grins. “Heeey, pretty lady,” he slurred.

Well, wait... was this new gal _actually_ pretty? He couldn’t honestly tell, being that A) he was currently so plastered that he’d nearly shed some tears while telling the bartender about his goldfish, named Fat Boy, that died thirteen years ago and B) the new gal in question was mostly obscured by a dark hood. So, yeah, Peter couldn’t even really see her. Ah, well- these mysterious types were usually hot by standard, right?

The Aedian’s eyes were currently roaming over Peter’s face. “You are Peter Quill?” she inquired in a hush. Peter’s grin faltered as he squinted to better focus on her. A voice of reason spoke amidst his other happily drunken thoughts, warning that this chick he’d never seen before probably _shouldn’t_ know his name.

An alternatively more satisfying thought occurred to him, and his grin brightened once more.

“Ah-ha! So you’ve heard of me, huh? Legendary outlaw ‘n all that, I suppose. I’d prefer it, darlin’, if you called me _Star-Lord_.”

She didn’t, to his disappointment. Actually she never replied at all.

Rather she reached out with a slim hand, her fingers cool as they touched the center of Peter’s forehead.

A strange, jolting sensation like electricity traveled throughout his body, starting from her touch and shooting right down to his fingers and toes. Peter stifled a yelp of surprise, dramatically leaning back and away from her hand, gripping onto the bar’s edge to keep himself mostly upright. “The _hell_ , lady!” he exclaimed, eyeing the freaky lightning woman warily.

As if her job here were done, the Aedian withdrew her hand, tucked it carefully away into her long cloak, and moved to leave. Then she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to meet Peter’s eyes once more. “You have questions. Worry not, child. He will be in touch with you soon.” And with that most ominous and unhelpful of explanations, she vanished, slipping with ease back into the crowd of rowdy drunks from which she came.

“Uhhh,” was all Peter managed, his racing heart sobering him up for just a moment. His body continued to tingle throughout. “O-kay?”

“Hon?” the bartender asked, leaning over the bar to furrow her brows at him. “You doin’ alright, kid?”

“Pfft,  _kid_ ,” Peter attempted airiness, hoisting himself to his feet and trying to ignore the newfound shakiness of his legs. “I’m no kid, sweetheart. I’m… whoa.” Colors were suddenly bleeding together, and the images around him were morphing oddly. Within seconds, instead of the rundown bar, he saw… he saw planets and a beautiful, endless expansion of stars, all at his fingertips.

As quickly as they came they were gone again, leaving him staring down at the comparably mundane bar stool he’d been gripping tightly.

“ _Whoa_ ,” he breathed again.

“Hon, I’m thinkin’ you should probably go and grab your father,” the bartender advised, motioning behind him with her chin. “Really. You’re not lookin’ too good.”

Peter blinked at the word ‘father’- as if this entire situation could get any more confusing- but when he looked over to the table in question, he scoffed weakly. “That’s… that’s Yondu. He ain’t my-“

“Quill! Oi!” cried Tullk, one of the burly Ravager crewmates, swinging by to bump shoulders with Peter as his drink sloshed messily over his mug. “Come back over ‘n join the celebration, boy. We’re ‘bout to make a toast!’

“Right,” Peter said dazedly. He mustered up a farewell grin that was meant to reassure the worried bartender, hurrying to trail off behind Tullk before she could say anything more.

Later, as the toast neared its end, Peter caught Yondu’s eye. The captain gave him a nonchalant once over and the quickest of winks, swigging his drink before turning his lazy focus back onto the enamored women. Peter shot a half smile in return. He was good. No need to dwell on the weird encounter if he’d left it unscathed, right? He decided to just momentarily sort of… push the strange incident out of mind.

As he partied on through what was left of the night, and as further drunkenness ensued, he found that wasn’t all that hard to do.

 

* * *

 

… Especially when, as Peter learns the next morning, ‘further drunkenness ensued’ had apparently consisted of Peter on top of a table, arm in arm with Kraglin and belting out a very heartfelt rendition of ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’. Kraglin had left at some point to jump down and join in on a bar fight. Peter would have gladly helped, had he not begun to double over mid-song and puke his brains out onto the poor, unsuspecting inhabitants of the chairs below.

Who happened to be Yondu and both of his bimbos.

So, seeing as more immediate concerns were at hand- like avoiding Yondu for the remainder of the day, as Peter was sure his grumpy old captain was none too happy with Peter’s most recent of inadvertent cock-blocking methods- he might’ve been happy to write off the encounter with the Aedian as simply a drunken hallucination, or episode, or whatever. _Might’ve,_  had the incident in the mess hall the next morning not occurred.

He’s lounging back in a chair and nursing his hangover headache, idly bullshitting in the mess with a small portion of the crew as they all listen to Kraglin regale the tale of the bar fight, when Peter’s vision begins to blur out again. There’s no outstanding imagery to behold, this time, but the voices around him muffle, sounding as though they’re underwater. 

He suspects maybe he’s on the verge of passing out (which, great, fainting in front of the guys is the _last_ thing he needs) but then he hears one voice, clear as day, booming through the less distinguishable ones:

“ _Peter_.”

All other noise is fading away completely. Whether this is simply due to the crew’s conversation dying down, or Peter seemingly losing all function, he couldn’t say. Through the blurry haze that is his vision, he thinks he sees Kraglin turning to face him. His mouth is moving. Peter blinks rapidly, attempting to clear up the fuzzy image of the first mate in front of him.

“ _Peter, my boy_.” There’s the voice again- but the words don’t match Kraglin’s mouth, nor does it even _sound_ like Kraglin.

“… Pete? Hell-ooo, anybody home?”

 _That_ does, however. Peter’s vision swims back into focus and he feels his ears go  _pop_. Kraglin and the other crew are all staring at him.

“Why d’you look like you’re ‘bout to keel right over, Quill?”

Peter gives some halfhearted, snarky reply guaranteed to send the other men either chuckling or rolling their eyes and, most importantly, off his back. Because as they jump to a new topic, he isn’t listening. He’s suddenly remembered something the Aedian in his ‘hallucination’ said, which kind of cements that that had certainly  _not_ been a hallucination: 

"Worry not, child. He will be in touch with you soon.”

_Peter, my boy._

Ah, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first ever Guardians fic! Let me know what you all think so far!


	2. Blame it on my ADD, baby

As the inevitable can be held off for only so long, it’s a few hours later that Peter runs into one displeased and notably jacketless Centaurian.

“Quill, you little _shit_. Pain in my ass Terran,” Yondu gripes, catching Peter swiftly by his collar when he fails to sneak past the captain on the bridge. “Got my best jacket reekin’ of goddamn Terran barf! I thought you knew how to hold your liquor, boy!”

“Hey, man, usually I’ve got a gut of absolute steel,” Peter defends, wiggling against Yondu’s grip. “How else could I have survived all those freaky alien foods you forced down my throat growin’ up?”

“Oh, _boohoo_. Now the boy’s cryin’ about me keepin’ him fed and alive.” Yondu releases Peter’s shirt with a yank. “You’re one ungrateful li’l barf bag, you know that?”

“Yeah, kept me alive after _almost killing me_ ,” Peter grumbles as he fixes his collar. “Some of that junk gave me severe allergic reactions!”

Yondu's jaw twitches. “I’d like to know how in the hell I was supposed to know what a Terran can or can’t eat?” he demands, indignant. “Ain't never had one before! ’Sides, we got you to the doc and fixed you right up after you started turnin’ that funny purple color, didn’t we?”

Peter blows air into his cheeks to cut off his own retort; he knows how to pick his battles. Usually. “Sorry ‘bout the jacket,” he says instead. He even has the decency to try and look sheepish. “I’ll clean it.”

“You bet’cha will,” Yondu affirms. “And know what else you’ll do?” He shoves a full, sudsy bucket smack dab into Peter’s chest. The big jerk must have been armed and ready to run into Peter all day. “Communal bathrooms. _All_ week long. Go on, now.” He flashes a grin, all jagged teeth and crimson eyes, before continuing his stride down the bridge and away from Peter. “You ain’t the only unlucky bastard that blew his chunks- but the rest managed to aim 'em into them bathrooms.”

“Sweet Jesus.” With a heavy sigh, Peter grudgingly turns his heel to head towards said bathrooms. He supposes he’ll count himself lucky (well, not _lucky_ per say, but you know; it’s all relative) that his Smurf of an overlord hadn’t even been all that angry. Bathroom cleaning duty ain’t exactly a Christmas present but, in the past, Yondu has been ticked enough to ban Peter to the ship come mission time, or threaten to have his _Milano_ locked up and away.

Not that Yondu will be able to hold those kinds of things over his head forever. Peter swears that, someday, he’ll leave this place. (He tried once already when he was sixteen, but it only ended with Peter groveling back at the Ravager’s doorstep, mud-soaked, tired and hungry, with an entire small planet out for his blood. He’s taken the whole experience as a subtle sign that maybe he’s not  _quite_ ready to head off on his own.)

He also swears that there aren’t many smells in the universe more putrid than that of a communal Ravager bathroom. In some weird and unspoken pact, much of the crew enjoy remaining sweaty, unbathed and occasionally flea-ridden for as long of stretches as possible. And then they honestly wonder why the ladies flee when a gaggle of Ravager men come marching through. Sure, there’s the intimidation factor to consider, and the fact that the crew is generally horrifying to look at, but Peter’s convinced it’s mostly the smell.

Peter lets the bucket drop to the ground with a _thud_ , making a face as he discovers that Yondu certainly hadn’t been lying.

He’s on his hands and knees, elbows deep in the soap bucket, when another unmistakable scent wafts over. It overrides both the ‘Ravager’ stench and the strong chemical smell of the soap. And Peter absolutely freezes.

Meredith Quill had loved to bake. Especially pies. Her best, and Peter’s favorite, was her apple pie.

As years have passed on, it's terrified Peter to realize that there are little things about his mother he simply cannot remember. But one memory he recalls with crystal clear clarity is that of him bursting through the front door after his days at school, warmed by the sight of his mother, who sang in the kitchen with the windows wide open. The smell of her baking is safely embedded in his mind. So safely, in fact, that there's little debate that he's smelling it _right this second._

He tosses the sponge and rocks back on his heels, glancing about the room wildly. He doesn't know what he's expecting to see- Meredith Quill, holding an apple pie in the middle of a spaceship bathroom?- but suddenly it's of utmost importance that Peter find the source.

He jumps to his feet and hurries out through the door, where he runs smack dab into Horuz.

“Ey! Where’s the fire, Quill?” Horuz asks, apprehensively eyeing Peter’s soapy arms and wide eyes.

“Do you smell that?!” Peter exclaims, peering over Horuz’s shoulder excitedly.

“Er... the smell of about a dozen men's vomit? Yep. Real rank.”

“No, no.” Peter grabs the older man by the shoulders and turns him around, ignoring Horuz’s annoyance with being manhandled. “ _That_. Do you smell that amazing smell?”

“I smell puke, Quill. Ain’t nothin’ ‘amazing’ about puke.”

Well, of course Horuz wouldn’t have a reference to what Peter’s talking about. There’s no apple pie in space, after all. Peter releases him and continues towards the scent, only to realize with horror that it’s fading.

“Ah, no. No, no!” Peter halts, tries another direction, and then backtracks towards the restrooms, but as quickly as it arrived, any trace of his mom’s baking is gone. He looks around desperately, trying to determine if there’s been anyone who’s randomly walked by with a baked goods cart or something, but there is only Horuz, scratching his head at Peter from the restroom entrance.

“Can’t say I know what you’re on about, Quill.”

"I don’t know. Nothing, I guess,” Peter says, feeling both puzzled and crestfallen. His shoulders droop. "I'll, uh, I’ll finish up later. I think I need a break."

He doesn't really know what he'd expected, nor what on earth he has to feel so disappointed over.

But he doesknow that in the decade that Meredith Quill has been gone, even as he’s prayed out to her, even as he's listened to her favorite songs over and over and  _over_ again, never before has Peter had such a tangible sense of his mother being  _right there._

* * *

 “Do you believe in ghosts, Kraglin?”

Kraglin doesn't look up at the question, too intent on picking out something stuck between his crooked front teeth. He's squinting at his reflection off of a cooking pot being used as a makeshift handheld mirror. "There ain't no such thing as ghosts." He stops mid-pick, eyes trailing to Peter, suddenly looking wary. "Why? Somethin', uh... 'ghost-like' didn't happen anywhere 'round here, did it?"

“Nah.” Peter snuffs a smile at Kraglin’s poorly disguised fear of the undead. “How ‘bout telepaths? You ever deal with a telepath before?”

“Deal with one?” Kraglin grimaces as he twists the pick deep between his gums. “Yeah, kid. I  _dated_ one.”

Peter, already leaning on his forearms, leans even closer in towards Kraglin. “What was that like? Did she ever plant weird crap in your head?"

"Mmm, yeah..." Kraglin finally yanks the mystery object out of his mouth. "-Damned Scalluscs! Them shells are always gettin' stuck in my teeth!- What was I sayin'? Oh, the telepath gal. Man _,_  was she hot! Real bonkers though. She only used her telepath-y stuff on me once I broke it off with her. Started projectin' herself to make sure I could see her, hopin' it would make me miss her and come back. So, I booked it from that crazy broad! She couldn't make me see nothin' else once I made good distance. That, or she just went 'n gave up. I don't rightly know."

Peter hums in thought. The Ravagers had been sure to hightail it off the planet where he'd encountered the Aedian both quickly and discreetly. They'd still been in the immediate aftermath of a big heist, after all. If proximity were indeed a factor, Peter's pretty sure there's no way the woman could have kept close enough by to be currently messing with him, but...

"Could she, uh... could she make you _smell_ things? If she wanted to?"

" _Smell_ things? Heck if I know, Pete. Didn't stick around long enough to find out." Kraglin looks to him curiously. "What's with all the questions? You plannin' on askin' out a telepath or somethin’? Don’t count on gettin’ my blessing, or nothin’.”

Peter promptly tells him ‘no’, proceeding to randomly pick up the closest nearby object and chuck it straight at Kraglin, his unconventional way of distraction and putting an end to the conversation. 

Because here is Peter's problem: of _course_ he'd like to know why he's hearing voices and smelling apple pie out of the blue. It's just that he's not stupid enough to go blabbing about his odd experiences to any of the gruff crew who, at best, would tell him that he's nuts.

Which, scarily enough, is a possibility.

Even if that Aedian he'd met were using some sort of telepathic abilities to mess with Peter, why call out for him in some random voice, and why dig up old, specific memories of his deceased mother? It didn't make any sense. Perhaps, when she'd touched him, she'd caused him to become unhinged? Maybe he’s gone crazy all on his own, and had even imagined  _her?_

He sighs. Whether he's being screwed with, haunted, or is simply going off the deep end, he can't know. And if he's not about to talk to anyone else about it, he really doesn't know what else there is to do besides wait. Wait and see.

A week goes by without incident and he lets himself hope that, perhaps, he's already seen the end of it. 

* * *

It starts up again with the music.

He supposes that’s fitting, really.

Peter’s plopped himself down in a chair near Yondu, who is currently towering over his desk, sifting admiringly through a box of acquired treasures. “Hey, Yondu? Are toad-whales really a thing?”

It's been years since Peter has called Yondu ‘sir’ or ‘Captain’ outside of doing so because he’s in trouble. And it’s been nearly as long since Yondu’s bothered to correct him for it. Just like now, when Yondu, rather than snappishly correcting Peter to address him by his title, merely quirks a brow. “What, now?”

“ _Toad-whales_ ,” Peter enunciates patiently, as if this were a totally normal topic of conversation, and Yondu simply hadn’t heard him correctly. “Horuz was saying they can be caught and tamed to be ridden. I know he’s usually full of shit but if he’s right, wouldn’t it be totally badass to have one? Oh, my God, it would be _totally_ badass. Let’s go find one! Set the course!”

“Can’t say I’m sure what in the flyin’ fuck awhale-toad is, but no, you ain’t getting one. I’ve already gotta watch that  _you_ don’t up and piss everywhere.” Yondu snickers at Peter’s affronted look, ignoring his protest of “that was one time; I was ten!”

“‘Sides, what are you still beggin’ me for pets for, boy? You’re fourteen, or whatever. Ain’t you ready to be grown up and out of that phase yet?”

“Okay, one, I haven’t been _fourteen_ for a solid five years now. Thanks for keeping up with that. And two, a toad-whale would hardly be a ‘pet’.” Peter kicks up his legs and spins nonchalantly around in his chair. “It would be a kickass companion for a kickass outlaw, such as myself.”

“Yeah. Well. They sound obnoxious. And you’re already annoyin’ as all hell. I’ve got a migraine just thinkin’ about it.”

Peter sighs in defeat, leaning his head back against the chair to gaze lazily out at the blanket of stars.

That’s when he notices that Yondu… is playing music.

 _Earth_ music.

_"There's a port on a western bay, and it serves a hundred ships a day..."_

Peter perks up at this, listening with pleased interest. "Huh. Never thought I'd catch you voluntarily listening to Terran music in your free time. You _hate_ mine!"

The audio starts to drone in and out, quieting itself before cranking up so loudly it sounds as though it'll burst the ship's speakers. Peter winces and tries to muffle his ears with his hands, looking to Yondu in bewilderment.

“Okay. Wherever you got this tape, it sucks. If you wanted some quality tunes, you could've just asked to play mine, y'know," Peter grouses, slumping down in his seat whilst gripping his ears.

If Yondu even hears Peter over the music, he ignores him; he's chewing idly on a pick, turning one of his trinkets over in his hand for examination, seemingly unbothered by the ear-shattering volume.

The song quiets down decently, but the quality is now extraordinarily garbled. Peter's head is starting to hurt with it; the screechy audio grates against his eardrums, knocking persistently at his temples.

“Ugh. Can you just turn it off?”

“Hm?” is all Yondu grunts. He still hasn't looked away from his treasures, but his forehead has scrunched up in absentminded irritation at the constant interruption that is Quill.

Peter opens up one eye, as he's been squeezing both shut in response to another particularly loud  _screech_ in the track. The otherwise pleasant melody, with all it’s choppiness and periods of distortion, is starting to give him the creeps. "Okay, dude, you’re gonna tell me that doesn't drive you insane?"

Yondu tosses another figurine into his box, huffing at Peter. "What doesn't? The big, stupid Terran who won't get his yammerin' ass outta my copilot seat? He sure as hell  _does."_

 _"There’s a girl in this harbor town, and she works, laying whiskey down_ _…"_

"Ah. Ha-ha. I see. Real funny, old man," Peter rolls his eyes, once again resting his head to look up at the ceiling. Boy, does his head ache. "This is to get back at me for always blasting my stuff, right?”

“Alright, boy, the hell are you on about?” Yondu crabs, his admittedly tiny reserve of patience gone. Peter lowers his head to glare at Yondu, equally frustrated, especially as the track begins to skip and stutter out the same line, over and over: " _He_ _came on a summers day, bringing gifts from far away..." “_ The _music_ , Yondu. The stupid song playing that, swear to God, is gonna make my head explode. Do you need me to spell it out more? What the heck else would I be ‘on about’?”

Both men fall silent. Peter maintains his grumpy glare. Yondu looks genuinely, honestly confused as all get out, and a bit suspicious. He eyes the speaker above, brows pinched, tilting his head as if trying to hear something.

Finally he asks: “What song, Quill?”

The music is slowing itself down, now; the singers voice deepens and his words stretch out, as though they’re being pulled. The erratic beat times with the throbbing of Peter’s head. Ice trickles up through his gut.

“The one you’re playing, _right now_ , on that garbage tape,” he tries again, weaker this time; his confidence is steadily taking a nosedive as it dawns on him what may be happening, here.

Yondu eyeballs Peter scrutinizingly, seemingly attuned to Peter’s strange, sudden shift in demeanor. Any trace of the captain’s previous irritation has vanished.

"I ain't playin' a garbage tape," Yondu says slowly. “I ain't playin’ music, period.”

He’s not lying.

 _"And the sailors say; Brandy, you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be_..."

"You- oh. You really don't hear it," Peter states meekly, his palms beginning to sweat even as the music is now fading away; quieter, quieter, and evermore into the background. Yondu’s face is crinkled in a way that doesn’t much hide concern.

 _"But_   _my life_ _, my lover, my lady...”_

”Boy? Talk to me. What exactly are you hearin’ that I’m not?”

_”... is the sea."_


	3. Hush

Once, in the days where Peter was still a child fairly fresh aboard the _Eclector_ , the crew had made an impromptu pit stop shoreside after finding their ship in need of more than a few tune ups. Via his very loud, very annoying protests about never _ever_ getting to leave the damn ship, Peter had been grudgingly allowed to tag along as Yondu headed into the marketplace to barter with local junk traders. It was here that they’d experienced an unexpected run-in with someone who’d seemed to Peter to be Yondu’s boss.

Funny, because he’d always thought that _Yondu_ was the boss, but he’d kept his mouth shut, even when he would’ve liked to gleefully point out the way Yondu practically shrunk under this man’s scrutiny just as so many men shrunk under Yondu’s.

Stakar something-or-other was clearly pissed at Yondu for reasons Peter couldn’t quite make out- except that it seemed to have something to do with the sight of Peter himself. None of it made a whole lot of sense to him, especially as the men’s conversation was clipped and full of things half-said, leaving Peter mostly in the dark.

It didn’t help when Stakar and his merry men ended up calling for a private conversation with Yondu and Yondu alone.

Thus, here Peter waited, plopped in the dirt outside of the Ravager’s meeting building of choice, digging out of both boredom and- not that he'd ever admit it- nerves. Seeing Yondu be reduced to anything that resembled a kicked puppy had actually been sort of off-putting.

In the midst of his lackadaisical digging efforts, as the sun fell in the sky and the dirt around him cooled, he’d come across an oddly shaped rock. Out of curiosity (as there’d definitely been nothing _else_ to do for the better part of an hour now) he'd held it up to the sky for a closer look.

Light from the setting sun practically danced through the rock and, to Peter’s awe, transformed it into a brilliant, translucent blue. Lines of scarlet swirled throughout.

The mystical rock twinkled down at him, and eight-year-old Peter marveled.

Yondu finally emerged and his presence was that of a dark, ominous cloud. He’d sulked right past Peter without acknowledging the boy. Peter had shot to his feet, shaken off dirt and wiped at his face with muddy hands, slipping his treasure of a find into his coat pocket. He’d practically had to gallop to keep up behind Yondu.

A silent Yondu rarely bode well for anybody, so Peter chose to follow wordlessly, allowing Yondu the space to stew as they strode presumably back to their ship. Eventually, though, Peter’s smaller legs grew tired of this dumb jog thing he was being forced to keep up.

“Yondu. _Yond-uuu._ Hold on a sec."

“It’s 'Captain' to you, boy, and I’m tryin’ to haul ass off this godforsaken planet, so you best _keep up_.”

Peter picked up the pace to round in front of Yondu, attempting to gage the man’s expression. “Wait- what happened? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“It don't concern you.”

“But that one guy, Sticker- he was mad ‘cause I was there with you.”

“Stakar,” Yondu corrected with sudden bite. He had yet to look at Peter. “A high standin’ Ravager leader. Hell, one of the best we've got.” His hand dipped to rummage around his pocket. Nonchalant as his movements were, his agitation was still betrayed by the way he wouldn’t _stop_ moving. “Sir high ‘n mighty just cut off his alignment with us.”

“What? He did? ‘Cause of _me?_ ”

“ _No._ Will you shut your yap?" But Peter could’ve sworn the captain’s hand trembled as he brought a pick to his mouth. "There are rules to bein' a Ravager, see. And I... went 'n broke one rule too many."

“Oh. Well..." Yondu's odd behavior nearly stopped Peter from even asking. "What did you  _do?"_

At last the man slowed to a halt, exhaling heavily through his nose once. Twice.

"Y'know, you sure do ask a hell of a lot of questions,” he finally drawled, straightening to his full height and narrowing his eyes down to Peter, “for some brat who should just be thankin' his lucky stars I haven’t _eaten_ him yet.” Yet, as his fingers rolled the pick through his jagged teeth, his hand shook once more. “I’ll say it one last time, boy;it don’t  _concern you_.”

Strange. Firstly, because Yondu’s turmoil practically radiated off of him in waves, and Peter had yet to know the man to even remotely distress over anything that wasn’t lost money. Secondly was that Yondu's 'I'll eat you' threat hadn't even scared Peter this time, and thirdly was the fact that Peter actually wanted to help him.

Yondu hadn’t been kind to Peter. Not even by the shittiest of standards. But even still...

"Well, whatever it is you did... Can you fix it? Can I help?"

Yondu offered no answer. However, something about Peter's proposal seemed to pique his interest; he studied the child before him in quiet curiosity.

Peter warily watched him back. Shadows fell across the captain’s blue face, and they did him no favors; the creases created by his scowl were deepened, and every scar was pronounced. Crimson eyes glinted with the setting sun. Against the gloomy backdrop of the sky, with his jaw jutted and nostrils flared, he looked all the world like a gargoyle, or even a monster out of a children’s book.

But- as had just brilliantly dawned upon Peter- he also looked exactly like something _else_.

Mama had taught him to always find ways to remind people that they were important. Especially when others had made them feel less than. Sure, he’d previously only applied her rule to bullied kids in his class, or to batty, lonely old neighbors of the Quill’s, but he was certain the same thing applied to emotionally stunted pirates from space.

“YONDU!” Peter exclaimed, startling the man right out of his reverie; he raised up to his tiptoes, hands shooting out on impulse to grab the sides of the captain’s face. Knowing this was practically an invitation for a quick death didn’t stop him from absolutely beaming at his own brilliance. “Yondu, you’re _just like it!_ ”

The man in question had stiffened like a board under Peter’s tiny, mud encrusted hands, looking two seconds away from ripping them off or hurling his arrow through Peter entirely. Miraculously, he didn’t do either. Rather, while allowing the child’s hold, face scrunched in a way that made him look constipated, he asked through gritted teeth: “I’m jus’ like _what?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Currently, Peter’s eyes have landed on the rock he’d so proudly presented to Yondu all those years ago. It sits atop the captain’s desk discreetly among other items pulled from Yondu’s ‘box of treasures’.

Upon receiving Peter’s incredibly thoughtful and well-meaning gift, the ungrateful asshole had called Peter ‘kind of stupid’ for comparing him to some rock he’d dug up. “But it’s blue, with some red, and it doesn't look all that great ‘til you squint at it a certain way, and it’s sorta shaped like the Ravager symbol!” a disheartened Peter had insisted, letting go after holding the captain’s head in the same manner he’d held his rock up to the sun. Yondu had countered that it was shaped more like a deformed foot with a bunion, and was Peter really blind _and_ stupid? Kid was worthless for thieving if he couldn’t see worth a damn; Yondu should have just let the crew eat him if that were the case; also, Peter would have stubs for hands if he ever tried grabbing the captain’s face again; blah, blah, blah…

Needless to say, the fact that Yondu has made a point to hang onto the thing has Peter a tad confused.

His surprise at the sight of his comparatively crude, simplistic gift among the valued items of Yondu is fleeting in the face of more pressing matters at the moment, but still. It sparks the small hope that maybe Yondu does have some semblance of a heart, however malformed, at least enough to do more for Peter than just laugh in his face and write him off as insane.

“ _Quill!_ Boy-o! Hell-oooo! You plannin’ on answerin’ sometime today?”

Oh, right, Yondu’s asked him a question. With fingers snapping in his face. Peter blinks and straightens in his seat. “Yeah. Hi there. Okay, so, y’know how we all went and partied at that bar on Moonteg about a week ago?”

“Yeah, Quill. The night you hurled your Terran dribble at me. What about it?”

Peter's too ridden with nerves to even react to the goad. "Something really weird happened before all that."

“Mm. Weird how?”

Peter tries to begin explaining it all then- really, he does- but, God, does his head  _ache_. A steady  _t_ _hunk, thunk, thunk,_ as if someone is knocking for entrance into his noggin, which is fitting, considering that it's soon followed by the voice:

 _“Shhh… hush, now, Peter… you must stay_ quiet _about this.”_

Peter immediately clamps his mouth back shut.

'Oh,  _must_ I?' he hurriedly attempts to reply within his own head. 'Says who? Some faceless jerkwad who keeps dicking with me?' His heart speeds up at the chance to finally hold a conversation and get an answer or two. 'How about this, asshole- you start explaining what the hell you've been doing inside my head, or I start talking.'

"Weird _how?_ ” Yondu repeats, never one for patience, but Peter needs to ignore him for just _one_  more second in favor of hearing out the other voice.

 _“And I will, boy. In fact, I have every answer I know you seek; answers that require more time to explain in full, and answers I cannot give if Udonta is made aware. Just give me time, Peter, and in return, I promise to give you_ … everything."

Peter's ears loudly  _pop._ Mercifully, the pressure in his head eases away, likely signaling the end of this 'conversation'. He's left staring bewilderingly at Yondu, who's taken matters into his own hands by rising out of his seat to shake Peter roughly.

“Whoa, dude, I’m answering, I’m answering!” Peter protests. Yondu just barely backs off and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Are you, now? Spit it the hell out, then! First you go and tell me you're hearin' shit that ain't there, and then you're gapin' at me like you're all the sudden mute, blind 'n deaf." Yondu is staring at him like he's grown a second head. "More talkin', Quill. Less spacin'. The hell are you tryin'a tell me? What happened on Moonteg?"

Alright. Peter is going to have to make up his mind both quickly and wisely before Yondu’s short fuse officially reaches it's end. Employ for whatever aide Yondu may be able to offer (likely none) against a nameless voice inside Peter’s head? Or give said voice the chance to hold up to its word and explain its presence?

Yondu is already being kind of a dick about the whole thing. And Peter supposes that, if it means he may get some answers, waiting this whole thing out just a tad longer _probably_ won’t kill him. In a split-second he decides to hastily run with his latter plan by playing the whole thing off.

"As I was saying, ye of little patience, I ended up downing some funky foreign drink that someone gave me at the bar. I don't think it mixed too well with Terran biology because I'm still all messed up from it," Peter lies. "I've been sort of trippin' out here and there ever since. Like I did just now. Plus, y'know I've usually got a gut of steel and all, so that drink probably explains why I blew chunks, too."

He is normally a master story fabricator. However, this is also _very_ on the spot. He decides it's best to hit the road before Yondu can pry too much and makes his move to leave. "I'll go grab pills or somethin' from Doc to take and be good to go."

“You… wait, hold up, now,” Yondu interrupts his departure. “Who gave you the drink?”

“I- dunno.”

"Huh. So some _random ass_  stranger waltzes on up to you, hands you somethin’ ‘funky and foreign’, and your dumbass goes ‘n gulps it down? No questions asked? Quill, what the fuck? Do I really gotta go and give you the talk about ingestin’ sketchy shit from people you don't know?”

Well, Jesus Louisus, if Peter could've known this would lead to receiving the full blown third degree! “I didn’t say I just took a swig from some total _rando_ ,” he defends heatedly. Even knowing full well the scenario they’re arguing over is fake, being reprimanded makes him feel all but thirteen again. “Even when I'm drunk I'm not that stupid. I know I got it from crew.”

Yondu's mouth thins into a line and he's suddenly very quiet. "What?" Peter asks warily.

"Which crew, then?"

"I don't  _know,_ Yondu," Peter replies in exasperation. "I don't remember. I was totally shitfaced."

The captain hums in thought, lounges back, and presses his fingers together. His demeanor has suddenly shifted into one that's deceivingly relaxed. "I don’t know what kind of weird ass spell you jus' had,” he says passively, “but that weren’t no reaction to alcohol from over a week ago. If your teeny Terran brain is still a shit show after all this time, then someone must've slipped you somethin' nasty, boy."

Yondu may be playing it off like he doesn't care- which, well, he probably really doesn't- but the captain is definitely convinced that someone in the crew has it out for Peter. Granted, Peter can be enough of a pain in the ass that he himself would be surprised if one of them  _doesn't_ , but still.

His little 'episode' must have been more alarming than Yondu is letting on. Normally this type of 'I drank something weird and am now tripping balls' scenario would probably just warrant the captain laughing cruelly at Peter, telling him he's a moron, and shooing him off to Doc. Now, though, Yondu doesn't seem to be willing to just drop it.

Peter supposes Yondu's never well put up with crew pulling that sort of crap on eachother. He's likely to go and make some 'inquiries' over the entire thing. Peter may strongly dislike a large portion of this ugly, smelly crew, but it still makes him feel a tiny bit guilty about lying.

The entity in his head had better come through with its promises.

"Yeah. Well, I'm goin' to Doc, then," Peter sighs, turning away in the hopes of finally getting to leave. "He can fix whatever it is."

"Hmph. You ain't comin' with tomorrow unless he tells you you're cleared to. You're no good to us pullin' that freaky, spacey crap." Yondu pauses. "Quill. There anythin' else I ought to know?"

"Nope," Peter says without looking back. "Nothin'."

He can't tell the truth until he knows it himself, anyway.

 

* * *

 

So. Peter had mentioned that enduring his hallucinatory experiences for a little longer probably _wouldn’t_ get him killed?

Rarely as he has to admit this, he may have been wrong.

"Hi, baby," breathes Meredith Quill, tears in her green eyes and smile wide as it is beautiful.

It's the morning after the music incident and Peter, along with a handful of Ravagers, has been trudging along a narrow path that wraps up and around a spectacular mountain. They're here to collect a rare type of crystal that doubles as a valuable power source. It's rumored to rest along the sides and atop the mountain, and crew has split off into small groups in order to carry away as much as possible. Also because they expect the natives, if encountered, to be a highly aggressive and territorial race.

Peter can handle all that. Piece of freaking cake. What he's not so sure he can handle is his mother's ghost, standing at the cliff's edge, reaching for him just as she'd done moments before death.

"Mom," Peter chokes, trying to say more while simultaneously not stumble over his own feet- it's all very difficult because his surroundings are blurring, are dripping away like rain, along with any coherency to his thoughts. Within seconds he's forgotten the mountain; the crew's confused inquiries are muted; all he sees, all he knows, is his mother. And he needs to take her hand.

This becomes fairly problematic when it turns out that Meredith Quill is not actually there, and all Peter has managed to do is dazedly sidestep right off of the goddamned cliff.

He is tumbling, falling, tumbling, falling... gone, before he even hits the water below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm so, so sorry about the awful delay between updates! Nursing school is truly creativity sucking! But please let me know what you're enjoying about the story so far. :) Your comments and thoughts inspire me to get my writing butt back in gear!

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Guardians fic! Let me know what ya'll think so far!


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